She did not move just sat and thoughts filtered down through her mind, and they tumbled and twisted her up in knots. She was slowly becoming used to many things, and one thing was that she could not control others and how they acted, she could only control how she reacted. Yes she would always be a little wary around Nerian, and yes she would not trust her within five feet of her husband, but he had made it abundantly clear, that what she thought of Nerian didn’t matter, he needed her. She scoffed quietly, and shook her head, forcing herself to dispel the bad thoughts that threatened to break her heart.
They had not built a new den yet, and she looked over at her children, gently reminding herself that life was good. They lay amongst each other, on top of each other and every which way. Ever so often Tveir would kick a back leg, and snore. The boy could wake the dead with his snores, he was such a loud little boy, she certainly hoped he quieted down as time wore on.
Standing slowly, she moved away from her small family, her mind was far to full to sit quietly. Besides she needed to find a new place to put her garden. She planned to move it, with or without Ragnar’s consent, there was far too much in it to let it there, she hoped he would certainly say yes, just maybe she would have to take someone else with her. She sighed, she knew very well if he wouldn’t let her go she wouldn’t, she was far to scared of the bear to go alone. As she restlessly moved around the edges of the small area her family lay, her mind turned and twisted into itself.
The first night spent in Stavanger Bay could not be attested to the best night’s sleep the platinum Viking ever received if only because, while he had slept curled around his wife and children he had not dared to let himself be taken into so deep a sleep that he would not be able to wake from it quickly. The half asleep state in which Ragnar had ‘slept’ left him on the brink of consciousness, alert and rousing forth from it at every rustle. All in all, it was not a very good night. It was not to the fault of anyone but Ragnar’s own, given that while he felt the lack of tensions and stresses that had plagued him in sleep and in the waking hours he could not let his guard down. Not yet. Not so soon.
Not all tension had left the scarred Northman, either. It made him anxious to have Nerian in heat within proximity of Thistle’s nose, not because Ragnar had anything to be guilty for — on the contrary he had displayed quite a bit of unrestrained will power in declining Nerian’s body though, admittedly, the temptation to take what was his by slave law alone was there, to sire an illegitimate litter upon her so that no other male could ever lay claim to her had been there — but because he knew of Thistle’s jealousy towards the anglo-saxon woman and did not want her jumping to wild conclusions. As it was he warred with himself over if he should just tell Thistle about how Nerian had attempted to seduce him into planting his seed, seduced by her own heat season because then that way it wouldn’t look like he attempted to hide it; he had nothing to be sorry for. Against every hormone in his body that reacted, on the most basic and primitive instinct level, to the scent of Nerian in heat Ragnar had told her no, finding the strength to do so even when she had slid along his side, until Ragnar’s body had pulsed with out of his control want.
On the other side of that spectrum of trepidation, Ragnar wanted her to know what he had done for her. That he would spurn all other females, as long as that was what Thistle wanted from him. In a lapse of fair judgment he didn’t think it was entirely fair given their children weren’t really his and he was three already. Perhaps he was doomed to adopting bastards, then, but not even his own. Bastards of other men. He had finished a patrol, deciding that it did nothing for him to continue laying and feign sleep when he wasn’t actually sleeping. He had circled back intending to steal his wife away for a bit, still unsure if he wanted to instigate that fight with her, or if putting it off would only make him look suspicious. Ragnar suspected she didn’t fully trust him to be loyal to her, and while in a manner he understood, he also found it insulting, too.
Surprise took control of his facial features as he had been heading near the area in which he had left them earlier to see a streak of fawn color that smelled too canine to actually be venison and turning his pace quickened to catch up to her.
Their first night sleeping, Thistle had slept fairly well, not the greatest mind, but she had slept. Nightmares had still come, but they had not been too terrible this time, that she couldn’t fall back asleep afterwards. Ragnar had finally slept as well, though she strongly suspected it had not been fully deep. He had been gone as she had woken up.
Thistle had luckily not been near Nerian, granted the poor woman could not help it, but if Thistle had known she didn’t really know how she’d react. She felt bad that her children were not her husband’s by blood, but in her own defense he had not gotten to her fast enough, he could have. She strongly suspected she had started to become extremely fond of the Viking, the first time she healed him. And besides she had been extremely crazy in her heat season, and rather inexperienced, her mother had not told her, that the need to find someone to ease the burning would drive her momentarily mad. If she could change it, she would, but she couldn’t and she wouldn’t feel bad about the gift the plateau man had given her.
Thistle could not help the fact that she didn’t trust her husband fully, and it wasn’t even that she didn’t fully trust him. It was more along the lines of she knew how much he missed home, and Nerian was from his home and his former station, and she was not exactly an ugly wolf. So, if in a moment of weakness he needed something from home, there was the priestess, and she was easily accessible since she had already told him she loved him.
Thistle heard her name and she thought about continuing on, merely because she was warring within herself, and tended to be irritable to the one man that loved her when she was, but she couldn’t do that to him. She stopped and turned blue eyes towards him and gave him a small smile. She stepped forward to lick his muzzle, Good morning Ragnar.
Given the half awake, half asleep stasis that Ragnar had been in he could not say if the nightmares that had plagued him in the lulling tresses of slumber had finally vanished or not. Even if they would ever finally fade away it would not be for a while, he assumed. It wasn’t like he could immediately forget everything that had happened just because they had successfully relocated to Stavanger Bay. He could not forget about Wheeling Gull Isle’s intrusion and the threat they had once but no longer poised against his pack, neither could he forget the gruesome image of Pump’s broken body made only worse when he and Surra had attempted to move it off of the shore and up onto the soil so they could properly bury the …pieces of her. Without her spine to hold her together it had been worse yet though Ragnar had not breathed a word of it to Thistle. He had been rather eerily unbothered by it if only because he had seen worse (worse? Yes worse). The only part of it that had truly perturbed the Viking had been because he had known her and respected her and there he and Surra were digging her grave and burying her.
As soon as she had heard him call out her name, in a quiet, mischievous even, beckon she had turned Ragnar watched and stayed still for her in a show of surprising obedience when she closed the distance between them and traced her tongue across his muzzle in a lick. or rather boast of, thank you very much would probably only make them tighten more. There was that dark part of Ragnar that still wanted a polygamy relationship so he could sire children with both Thistle and Nerian, while loving Thistle and nurturing his fondness for the Priestess. In truth, he still didn’t see what was so terrible about it because they’d only have to share him when they went into heat in that respect but he was still undecided as to if he wanted to broach that particularly fantasy with his wife. Yet, if possibly ever.
He looked down at her through heavy-lidded eyes, wondering if there was anything that was remotely wise in being so honest with Thistle when she had sort of proven to him that she couldn’t handle it, before, but then again as he previously thought the idea of hiding it from her (because realistically she would find out Nerian was in heat) would make him look guilty of something because he knew she was in heat.
Thistle could not say that she wasn’t stressed out or upset, but she certainly felt that she had an excuse for it. After all she had just given birth a few weeks ago, which wreaked havoc with her emotions and hormones anyway. Her friend was killed by a bear that only a few short weeks ago too had been chased away and another pack moved near them agitating her already frayed and stressed emotions. And then on top of that her husband was upset with her, because she was upset about another woman being in love with him, honestly what did he expect and quite frankly if another male so much as sniffed at her crooked he’d rip their throat out, yet he had the gall to get upset with her for something she felt that was really crossing a line. So gods forgive her if she was a little perturbed. She smiled softly at his good morning and kept her eyes on him.
If she had known that he thought she couldn’t handle truth, she would honestly show him how handled she had been, again it came simply back to the fact that what did he expect, her to take the news lying down she was not that docile, she was docile yes, but not so badly that she rolled over and took anything lying down.
At his next words her heart dropped a little and her blood ran cold. What in the gods could have happened now, so she sat down and looked at him, blowing air gently through her nostrils. Okay I’m listening talk. She raised an eyebrow and waited.
Again, trepidation grasped him within the recesses of it’s steel claws as he wondered if it was wise to tell Thistle this. He had no guarantee that she wouldn’t run after Nerian to kill her the second before he even finished speaking. It wasn’t as if the woman could help going into heat although continuing after him the first time he’d told her no could have, probably, been avoided but Ragnar wondered if Thistle really needed to know that. While he didn’t want her to go tearing after Nerian for something she biologically couldn’t help he was trying to find some sort of solution between the two women that didn’t include his polygamy idea. Nerian had explicitly stated that she wouldn’t have minded but it wasn’t Nerian Ragnar had to please here because it wasn’t Nerian he was helplessly in love with. He was fond of her, sure, but it was Thistle that he had given his heart too and that brought with it a whole new level of commitment for the once libertine Viking. In reality, he wanted Thistle to stop hating Nerian and being jealous of her at every turn of the road not even for his own sake but for the Priestess’. She didn’t know that it was he by telling Thistle that Nerian had admitted to being in love with him, had driven that wedge of ‘never going to be friends’ between the two women, accidentally, when Nerian had admitted to him that was all she wanted. Was to be Thistle’s friend (guilt trip from hell, anyone?).
She raised an eyebrow at the next part and blew air out quickly from her nostrils. Now what on earth did he want her to do with that information? It irritated her sure, but it was a natural order of things, the next part however made alarm bells ring throughout her mind, but she didn’t know what to say about it. She sighed and spoke softly Ragnar I do not worry about other females I worry about Nerian. Do you have any idea why I do? Any at all? She stopped talking and let him think about that for a moment, her blue eyes softer, but her jaw line a little tight. She shifted her weight and looked down at her paws, thinking of what else to say.
I think you don’t, Ragnar I worry about her, because she is from your home, your culture, even if she isn’t a Viking she is from that life, and I know you miss it. I am not a fool, and there could be a day where you missed it enough to go for what she is obviously freely offering you. I know you won't, but I cannot help my jealousy, or my own dark thoughts, I can't. I am trying, but I can't just turn them off. And sometimes those thoughts do spill into my words or my actions, i am just a passionate wolf I guess, and I feel things a little stronger than most. As for heat, that is a natural order of things, I can’t condemn the poor girl for that. And frankly I wouldn’t have gone after her anyway, you needn’t tell me about moving from where I am sitting, I am far too tired to deal with such conflict and strife at the moment. As for everything else I’m working on it, I can’t promise you we will be friends right this second, and I don’t know if I really want to be right now, but I am open to the idea eventually perhaps, but first she needs to be out of heat, and she needs to let me work through my own issues. She shook her head, unsure what else to say, what else did he want her to say?
There was nothing more to say. She couldn’t just jump up and be the girl’s friend, she had told her husband hers that she was in love with him, and though Ragnar didn’t say it, she was fairly certain Nerian would have tried to get him to ease the ache that came with being in heat. She was not a fool, and she herself knew what went through your mind at the time. Honestly, she didn’t understand why he was so upset with her about this, when he himself had asked to be her husband, partially because he didn’t want anyone else to have her, and the thought of anyone thinking of her like that had pushed him into throes of jealousy, he had all but told her that. Unless there was more under the surface than just a slave master thing between the two, but she refused to think about that. She was trying to dispel those dark thoughts, not add more to the already swirling maelstrom of thoughts in there. Sighing she spoke around a dry mouth forcing the words from her mouth, I want to make a garden here, perhaps after this cycle is done for her she can help me, but Ragnar that is the best I can do right now, I just need some time to calm my thoughts. She looked up at him and smiling softly I love you to Ragnar. He hadn't said he loved her of course, exactly, but he had all but said it with his heart comment. She tilted her head, her ears perked forward. Where did they go from here?
Ragnar was silent while she spoke, giving her the same courtesy that she gave him, by listening. His brow furrowed when she asked why she thought what she did about Nerian but did not answer her. Because he didn’t know why, or even have a remotely conclusive suspicion, either. In this, he too, remained silent, giving her monologue his full and rapt attention. Only to pick it apart, piece by piece. She was wrong. She didn’t realize that she was wrong, but he planned on telling her when she finished, anyway. What she chose to do with it, he knew, was up to her. He understood he was hypocritical, but his ability to be wrong in his thoughts and beliefs, despite that he did not particularly see it that way, was what made him canine. He wasn’t perfect, either.
It was a relief to finally be able to rationally talk to her about it, and he just hoped that she still loved and wanted to be his wife. If she chose to divorce him, or decided she didn't love him anymore he couldn't stop her despite how badly he didn't want that. She was the light of his life, his perfect counter weight and he just wanted her to know that.
Thistle listened to him and lowered her eyes as she absorbed everything he had said. So he told her no, and that was the end of it. He couldn’t however keep Nerian from trying again, or keep her from loving him. Which in a way was unfair of Thistle to condemn her for, you couldn’t help who you feel in love with, you could however, keep the lifting of your tail in check, which she obviously was not willing to do. She shook her head, and spoke quietly, Okay Ragnar I believe you.
She blinked fast and furiously, she chuckled softly and stood quickly and strode forward tucking her head underneath his muzzle and pulling gently at his shoulder and scruff. I want all that too Ragnar and you are stuck with me now and in Valhalla for as long as you’ll have me too. I’m sorry that I get jealous sometimes. I’ll work on it. Then she just stood there waiting to see if he had anything else to say or if he would accept her words, gently spoken. I Love you dear heart.
She felt her heart lighten under some of the burden she had been bearing lately. She buried her face into his chest and just took a deep breath, as it shuddered down her small body. She hated being at odds.
He did not necessarily like when they fought, despite that some times he did enjoy when the anger turned into heated passion, but this didn’t feel like one of those moments. It was a relief to feel like that proverbial elephant was finally out of the way. He didn’t want to have to constantly question her, and likewise, didn’t want her to constantly question him. They were married and though talking about things wasn’t very comfortable he wasn’t going to parade around, ignorantly, like everything was perfectly fine when he knew something was bothering her and when something was bothering him. The ability to communicate with one another was an invaluable one and in a way the Viking felt like it made them stronger; because they could talk about things with one another.
She closed the distance between them, the touch of her muzzle sliding against the curve of his throat caused him to growl lowly in it though the sound was hardly an aggressive one.
It depended on the day and what they were fighting about, that made thistle decided if she liked it or not. She enjoyed the gentle sparring with words, and she enjoyed the usual end result, but fights like this. Fights that could potentially ruin a relationship, she did not like in the least. And she realized that she had come very close to pushing him far far away, but she hadn’t been able to help it at the time. She realized some o fit stemmed from her own insecurities, but she didn’t like to dwell on them. Who really did though?
I promise Ragnar I will tell you from now on if something bothers me. and she would do her best. It would be hard of course sometimes, speaking of your feelings and your thoughts were not easy. Especially if you were not proud of them in the least, which was the case here. She didn’t like that she was jealous and that she couldn’t be around Nerian, but it was something that couldn’t be helped at the moment.
She listened to him and sighed softly Yes unfortunately it is. She would do her best to not let it come between them again, even if it meant throwing a fit in the silence of a forest, and calming down afterwards. She ran her muzzle up the side of his throat to nudge his own and gently licked him. At the moment content.
Ragnar understood that they were always going to have disagreements. Disagreements and differences of an opinion were to be expected because Thistle and him were starkly different creatures, raised from entirely different backgrounds. Quintessentially, Thistle was notably more refined than he, much more royal in the descriptive properties of the word than he, the savage, was. Besides bringing a woman’s intuition into his decisions she provided him with unique view points that he, otherwise, would have never considered if merely because of her civility, and compassion — both of which Ragnar also lacked. The platinum Jarl stared placidly at his wife his brow furrowed slightly in his thought. He needed Thistle. In an entirely different way than he needed Nerian — though he considered now that Stavanger Bay was founded and things had happened very differently than he had envisioned (in his visions of branching off Pump had not been deceased) that he did not need her for that purpose anymore and considered giving her her freedom. Even if his wife wouldn’t have held the spot of Gamma so consecutively, having thoroughly earned her way there without his biases, there wasn’t anything he kept from her. Not personal and not governing; Ragnar sought her opinions, valued her input as both second highest ranking wolf under him and as his wife. Her opinions mattered to him on all things, and impulsively he wanted her to know that, to know that without her he would be lost (which was more true than he probably was willing to admit).
Somewhere, somehow Thistle had became the focal point in which his world revolved around.
It was as Thistle spoke that shattered Ragnar’s rampant thoughts and he blinked once at her, confused for a moment having forgotten as he implored the wandering tendency of his thoughts what they had originally been speaking of. Or fighting about.
The touch of her muzzle, the brush of it as she moved it up the strong column of his throat momentarily disarmed the Viking, his thought process abruptly pulling a blank slate as the electricity of the touch and the intimacy of it and his own vulnerability there. A natural weakness. Ragnar did not make much of a habit of letting others near his throat for the simple facts that it was the easiest way to kill him and because he was vulnerable there. Letting brush her muzzle against the length of his throat was the purest ways he could express his absolute trust in her. It spoke more than any words he could conjure in Norse or English combined.
Much like Ragnar, he was her whole world, and the thought of even temporarily losing him, was enough to crush her very heart. Perhaps that was part of her problem, with sharing. Simply put if he were to go find Nerian when she was in heat to give him sons, well then she would lose him even if it was just for that little while. And her husband would not, not acknowledge children so then therein she would lose him more so when he went to spend time with his other love children and lover. It was just the way she thought and it hurt every time, she tired her hardest not too, but she couldn’t help it.
Thistle looked at him and thought about his next words and then spoke softly Ragnar I want you to listen to me now. I think you should give her, her freedom, but I also want you to do it delicately. You have to realize, how long has she been your slave? A long while yes? She is going to have a hard time accepting her freedom I think, and I also think she is going to see this as more of a push away, maybe she won’t, but if I were she that is how I would see it. She is not going to know what to do with herself for awhile, and she maybe very lost for a while too, even if she wants her freedom. I could be wrong of course, but that is how I would be myself personally if it were me. Thistle could just curse her soft heart, she wanted to hate the female, she wanted to but she just couldn’t. And being the way she was she worried about her, just as she worried about everyone else. and waiting after her heat cycle is probably a good thing. She gave him a small smile at that.
Thistle sighed softly in contentment, I love you too. She blinked for a moment at his next words, and was unsure how to answer him, she needed him too would always need him, could never get enough of him in all ways. She backed up and looked up, meeting his eyes and gave him a smile that brightened her azure depths I need you too, will always need you. Wherever we are as long as I have you I can do anything. She then licked his muzzle again and hummed in her throat.
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| Ragnar might have looked like Eitri, perhaps maybe even thought similar to how his father had despite that for most of Ragnar’s life that his father had been alive to be apart of had been spent at odds with the man who passed him up in favor of Björn; Ragnar had been the second son though he was much more clever, and stronger than his older brother. Ragnar wasn’t going to cheat on his wife with his slave as Eitri did because Ragnar was better than Eitri. At least he displayed more restraint. Ragnar did not know the details of the night Eitri had taken his wild Amazon slave against her will but the girl had obviously been in heat and Eitri had in Ragnar’s mind likely been unable to control himself because Dagrun had been the product of it. A bastard son; but still a better brother to Ragnar than Björn and Váli combined considering how both of them had stabbed him in the back and betrayed him.
"Six or seven months," Ragnar responded to her question of how long Nerian had been his slave. His timeline was a little fuzzy on the subject for too much had happened between then and now for him to remember everything in palpable and vivid detail. Ragnar gave Thistle his rapt attention as she spoke, bringing to his attention something he hadn’t and likely wouldn’t have considered. Nerian was upset by his rejections, likely more by the most recent one when she had begged him to take what she had refused him months ago before he had came to the Teekon Wilds after the fiasco with Dagmar and their aborted and stillborn children. He had been wifeless and his
"Just once when we go to Valhalla I want to sit on Odinn’s throne, to see what he sees, to know what he knows. Endless knowledge," Ragnar breathed in an awestruck murmur because he couldn’t even fathom it. It was then that he gave his wife a impish grin and spoke "I have always wondered what it would be like to make love in Odinn and Frigg’s chambers." Likely it would feel like punishment when they were caught but it sounded like too much fun and Ragnar enjoyed challenges. Besides, what would the Gods do to them? They would already be dead at that point. |
Thistle shook her head at her husband, well that answered her question. The one question she hadn’t asked, exactly how fond of his slave was her husband. Obviously, it was still the forbidden siren that called to him, but now that she was offering and he wasn’t taking. She shrugged, Alright then Ragnar, and I don’t think she will go back to her people she is questioning too much now I imagine.
Thistle listened to him and spoke in a conspirators whisper Alright while you’re sitting I’ll keep watch. She teased him gently, at his next words her eyes got wide. Ragnar! She lowered her eyes, laughter evident in them, the thought of the forbidden, made chills skitter up her spine. You are insufferable! She shook her head again in mirth. He was simply the very devil.
| Ragnar contemplated Thistle’s words, turning them over in his mind considering that if and when he bestowed the Priestess her freedom that she would not go back. It had brought to his mind her insistence that he not call her ‘Priestess’ anymore. Yet, that was what Nerian was to him. A Priestess — a woman of God (rather her God) as greedy as Ragnar thought he was still not sure that she didn’t really believe in Loki because when compared he couldn’t find any difference other than her God was nameless and had no face. He didn’t understand it, would probably never understand it but he let her believe whatever she wanted just as he did any of his other subordinates because who was he to tell them that they were wrong? "Even if you keep watch Odinn will know," Ragnar reminded her with a soft chuckle. "Yggdrasil gives him immense power not the throne itself. Still, I want to know, even for a few seconds, what it feels like to obtain that much knowledge." It had, in reality, nothing to do with the throne itself. He did not even fancy the idea of being a King of Gods, he only wanted to hear what Odinn heard, know what he did, see with his own two eyes what Odinn saw. She chided him for his fantasy involving them sneaking in to Odinn and Frigg’s private chambers to sate carnal desires and let out a deep laugh. "Does it still embarrass you? Speaking about Intimacy?" He inquired unable to hide his curiosity on the subject. She hadn’t been embarrassed when she had been in heat and didn’t seem to be so when they practiced for her next heat cycle but perhaps him speaking so bluntly about the act did still bring a creep of heat to his young wife’s cheeks. |
Thistle lowered her eyes and thought of her answer to her husband’s question. It did not bother her par say; it was just when he sprang it on her like that. And when he did she had the unpleasant thought that all the gods could see it, and it made her a bit uncomfortable, even though it was a natural thing, it was also a personal one, usually.
Not so much, except when you spring it at me like that, and I had the distinct uncomfortable thought, that the Gods are always watching and it just made me a bit shy is all. I know it is natural and gods know I enjoy it, but sometimes it will still cause me some moments of shyness, not so much embarrassment.
She looked up at him and offered him an ornery smile, she was slowly getting over that sort of thing, at least where he was concerned. If another wolf were to ask her or talk to her about it, she’d probably tuck her tail and run.
| Ragnar was not overly concerned about being burned alive from the knowledge that Odinn held. Even if it did prove to be more than he could realistically handle he would be resurrected by the night as if he had died in training with the other warriors and the Valkyries. "Odinn isn’t immortal and he hasn’t burned from it," Ragnar pointed out to her as a soft reminder but then again he was still a God while Ragnar was nothing more than a mortal man. The All-Father might have been capable of dying just as Ragnar was but there were still differences between the two. "I have only skimmed the infinite depths of his knowledge when he possessed me the day you became a Viking," It had burned him in the form of a delusional fever (in reality that whole thing just one hell of a hallucination from the Berserker side effects despite having not consumed the mushrooms in months before hand). It had been real to him and that was enough for Ragnar to believe that it was true and that it had happened. "I could feel the fire of his empty eye socket, felt the heat in my own eye," He spoke with nothing short of wonder and reverence for his supposed kin in his speech. "Perhaps one day I will sacrifice my own eye to him and Yggdrasil," It was not the first time Ragnar had considered it and likely wouldn’t be the last, either. He would have given so much more than his eye when it came down to it but he felt that his eye was probably the best case scenario of what he could give that didn’t involve incapacitating himself entirely.
What was left of the striking handsome creature he had been before Floki had marked his face with the scars that held semblance to the All-Father was present in the right half of his face but he had long since stopped caring about his own physical beauty. He was a warrior. He would end up maimed sooner or later, despite that it had been beauty he sought in his women (Thistle included). Like any shallow man he was attracted and drawn in by it, held by ferocity and dominance to rival his own. Of course Thistle was much softer and held compassion when he did not, she could be fierce and dominate because he had seen it. She was younger than him and in some ways still innocent but she was strong, reminiscent of the shield maiden she had became.
"Let them watch," Ragnar growled huskily in his throat. "Let them realize that compared to me they would be inferior to pleasing you," The Viking pressed his nose to the soft velveteen fur of her neck in turn, sharp teeth raking against the tendrils of fur eagerly, inhaling her womanly scent, mixed with his, earth, her medicines and the children. It was a scent he had came to adore in a similar manner that he adore his fawn colored shield maiden in general. "Thor could strike me dead if he disagrees." The Viking trained hot kisses down her neck to her throat tracing the elegant curve of his with his lips, stilling so he might feel the beat of her heart there. |
Thistle did not care how scarred her husband would become, yes he was handsome clearly so in the unscarred part of his face, but his eyes were fierce and beautiful and so was his soul, and that was all the mattered to her, his handsome self was just a bonus. She knew she was pretty, but she also knew that it would fade as she aged, but for now she was youthful and beautiful and she would do her best to keep that way, though if she gained a scar or two saving a family member or friend, she would bear that little beast with honor, she was still thinking of the goddesses of the Vikings and how she could easily support them, and often the thought of the mark on her hip made her pause, but she had not decided yet if she wanted it, and she wasn’t sure if her husband would do it, because he would hurt her, and that was one thing he was very careful not to do.
She leaned into his love bite and spoke softly with husky undertones, they would definitely be inferior in that regard dear heart. She gave him a small ornery smile and tugged gently at his shoulder, really the only place she could reach standing on all fours, but she had associated that shoulder with her spot to make a mark. Thistle arched her neck as he trailed kisses down it, and she hummed softly deep within, she shifted her weight and tilted her head so she could look at him for a moment drinking him all in.
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| Ragnar’s scarred left ear twitched in her direction giving her his attention even though his gaze had wandered to stare at the nearest ash tree, believing that it was a child of Yggdrasil. All of the ash trees were borne of it’s seed in the same manner their children were born of
"When he ripped them away from me," Did Ragnar feel any more intelligent from it? Yes, despite that their lives as sacrifice had not been his choice. "I would adapt to one eye. Odinn did." Granted he could still technically see from it despite that it belonged to Yggdrasil. Whereas Ragnar would only be able to see from his eye left in his skull if he were to sacrifice it. "Volunteering to sacrifice yourself to the Gods is an honor," Not that he intended to sacrifice himself any time soon. He had way too much life to live and children to create and things to conquer. If Thistle had came to him wanting a ‘tattoo’ carved into her in the honor of Frigg he would do it to the best of his abilities though he wasn’t as skilled as Floki was at carving up skin into rudimentary shapes that held semblance to the Gods (though Floki’s artistic talent was debatable). "I know," The Viking rasped when he felt her teeth against the skin of his shoulder tugging at it as per her tradition, his confidence unwavering even in the comparison to a God. "Come." It was a simple command that held no explanation of what he intended to do though his body language and his eyes spoke it for him. |
Thistle sighed Yes I know he ripped them away from you. I would adapt too of course Ragnar I am just curious where would you stop? Until there was nothing left? She left it at that, her words were not a question, but rather a questioning statement.
Thistle did not say anything just motioned for him to lead the way, and she followed softly behind him, happy to offer what she could.